


to trade in these wings on some wheels

by ScribeofArda



Series: tomorrow there'll be sunshine [2]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: But he's Illya's idiot, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Established Relationship, Fluff, Illya would like his boyfriend to not be stupid, Just a short oneshot based off a prompt from tumblr, M/M, Napoleon is an idiot, Seriously though Illya would like him to not crash and break himself in this Tour, So that's okay, Sorry this isn't a proper sequel, Technically Rivals to Friends to Lovers, Tour de France, Tour de France AU, Which is never going to happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:34:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23530903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribeofArda/pseuds/ScribeofArda
Summary: The road is straight and long ahead of him, and an idea comes unbidden to his mind.He can just imagine the look on Illya’s face when he pulls this off.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Series: tomorrow there'll be sunshine [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693384
Comments: 20
Kudos: 82





	to trade in these wings on some wheels

**Author's Note:**

> So this arose out of someone (thanks yavemiel!) tagging me in this video [here](https://theheirofashandfire.tumblr.com/post/614409391494610944/yavemiel-mstresser-lochnessmonsterofficial) and being struck by a sudden burst of inspiration that resulted in me writing this in about half an hour. I figured I'd pop it up on here for everyone who doesn't follow me on tumblr ([here](theheirofashandfire.tumblr.com)). It's short and silly and sweet, hope everyone enjoys!
> 
> In regards to a proper sequel to through fields, I do have some very vague ideas about how that might happen, but it's low down on my list of priorities right now and I have a lot of stories I want to work on first. There's an honest to god actual coffee shop AU slowly starting to be written towards an end, and I'm still in the middle of publishing [The Death of the Author](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21095810/chapters/50193482) as well, the third part of the C'eci n'est pas un espion series. There's also a fourth part to that series slowly taking shape in my head, but that's probably going to be more focused on some of the OCs I've introduced in the series. And then there might be a Witcher fic in the future as well? Whatever happens, I'm not going anywhere anytime soon.
> 
> Title from Springsteen's Thunder Road.

It’s a perfect ride.

The road is a blur beneath his wheels. The sun is beating down on him, on the yellow jersey stretched tight across his back, gleaming in the sunlight. The countryside is unfurling around him, old and beautiful and everything he just adores.

Napoleon can’t help but grin to himself as he leans into a corner and his bike responds perfectly, the wheels gripping the tarmac just right. He doesn’t even lose any speed as he comes out of the corner and digs deep, pushing the bike forwards down the long French roads.

He can see the silver jersey of Illya up ahead of him, just visible past the few riders still hanging on in the breakaway group. Only thirty seconds behind him, this Tour, but Napoleon thinks he might be able to just hang onto the jersey. It would be nice to keep hold of it. For the last time.

He hasn’t told Illya this yet. He doesn’t want to influence Illya’s ride in any way, even if it’s all in his own head. He knows that if Illya knew he was planning to hang up the bike shoes after this Tour, and he did manage to win, he would never quite be completely sure, in his own head, that Illya hadn’t backed off to give him the win.

This way, they’re fighting it out like they have done for the past few years. Like they did at the Olympics. Even the thought of those days makes Napoleon grin, his eyes slipping away from the road for a brief moment. The gold medals that they both brought home, back to _their_ home, together, are now somewhere in Napoleon’s sock draw. His medal for the time trial, the one he’d been so sure he would screw up, and Illya’s for the road trial. The perfect outcome.

There’s nothing quite like it. Though winning another Tour would certainly come pretty damn close.

The road is straight and long ahead of him, and an idea comes unbidden to his mind.

He can’t help but laugh out loud. He can just imagine the look on Illya’s face when he pulls this off.

A television car that’s been loitering behind him slowly pulls up beside him. Napoleon grins at the cameraman. “Right,” he mutters to himself. “Let’s give them a show.”

He leans forwards, resting his weight onto his handlebars, and takes his feet off the pedals. A few moments of precarious shuffling, his bike wobbling a little underneath him, and then he’s done it.

He stretches his legs out behind him. The bike seat digs into his crotch, but it’s so damn worth it. A quick glance to the cameraman in the car beside him shows exactly the reaction he had wanted: mouth hanging wide open, face frozen in shock.

He begins to pick up speed.

If the road was a blur beneath him before, it’s nothing but a mist now. The trees whip past him, the scent of pine as they come down out of the mountains filling his lungs until all he can remember is the promise of mountains, out there somewhere in the dark. A hotel balcony, one after the other, from rivals to tentative friends to something Napoleon doesn’t even begin to know how to describe.

The promise of mountains. Of something bigger than himself, just out there and ready to be found if he rides hard enough.

Napoleon laughs out loud, and leans his weight forwards a little. He so needs to catch up with Illya right now.

He doesn’t have time to savour the looks on the other cyclists’ faces as he races past them. He’s intent on the silver jersey of Illya up ahead of him, head down as he pedals, trying to gain back those thirty seconds that Napoleon has on him.

Oh, Napoleon knows Illya is going to be absolutely _furious_ when he sees this. It’s a pity Oleg has all those rules about no sex on the Tour, or this evening would be one of the best of all the Tours he’s ridden in.

He’s gaining on him with every second. The bike is perfectly balanced underneath him. He doesn’t have to do anything but lie there and laugh. Illya, predictably, hasn’t noticed a thing.

Napoleon waits until he’s just coming into Illya’s field of view, creeping up on one side.

“Hey, Peril!”

Illya glances across briefly, turns his attention back to the road, and then Napoleon watches as his jaw just drops.

Illya’s bike actually _wobbles_. Illya stares over at him. “Cowboy?” he gets out, seemingly by reflex.

“Loving my work now, Peril?” Napoleon shouts back through a laugh. “Just watch me work!”

Illya can’t seem to close his mouth. “You’re going to swallow a fly if you’re not careful,” Napoleon shouts over the rush of the wind.

“Cowboy.” God, Napoleon can hear his snarl even over the wind. Or maybe he’s just adding it in where he knows it’s meant to be. “What the _fuck_ do you think you are doing?”

“Enjoying it, Peril!” Napoleon calls back. “Live a little!”

“Oh, you piece of…” Illya trails off into Russian that Napoleon can’t quite hear. He’s pulling ahead of Illya now, and all he has to do is hold his legs out straight.

“Love you too, Peril,” he shouts back over his shoulder. “I’ll see you when you finally make it over the finish line!”

“Fuck you, Cowboy!” he hears as he pulls ahead. Napoleon laughs out loud, and settles in to enjoy the ride.

0-o-0-o-0

“Brace yourself.”

Napoleon looks up from where he was staring at a clip of him planking on top of his bike. He’d missed the motorcyclist joining in as he went past. Illya is storming towards him.

“Oh, here we go,” he mutters to Gaby. “Want to help out?”

Gaby holds up her hands. “You got yourself into this mess, you can absolutely get yourself out of it. Good luck, darling.”

“I don’t need luck,” Napoleon says as he climbs off his bike. “I’ve got the yellow jersey.”

Illya has a fierce scowl on his face. His hair is ruffled and sweaty, sticking up in all directions, and his face is still flushed from the ride for the finish. He looks absolutely decadent.

Napoleon glances around, and sighs. Far too many cameras around for him to kiss him senseless like he really wants to. He puts a grin on his face as Illya approaches. “Hey, Peril. Come to congratulate me on a fantastic ride today?”

“You,” Illya growls. “Of all the stupid- how easy would it have been for you to crash? You complete- you are such an _idiot_ , I-”

“Yeah, but it was worth it,” Napoleon says. He steps forwards, sliding his hands down Illya’s arms until he can lace their fingers together. “Utterly worth it, just to see that look on your face.”

Illya is scowling, but it’s slowly fading and Napoleon, who has made it his life’s work to understand the complexity of Illya’s expressions, can see the smile he’s struggling to keep under wraps. “You are an idiot, Cowboy,” he gets out.

“Oh, I know,” Napoleon says. “I love you too.”

Illya’s face softens immediately, just like Napoleon knew it would. “You’re still an idiot. But you’re my idiot, so I suppose it is acceptable.”

Napoleon absolutely cannot resist kissing Illya at that, tugging him forwards and pressing a soft kiss to his lips, still hot and flushed from this insane sport that they’ve both somehow decided to do. He knows he’ll get shit for this tomorrow, from his team, his handler, from Oleg and Gaby and the whole world when one lucky paparazzi gets the right shot.

He doesn’t care. He absolutely cannot find it within himself to care. He’s doing the sport he loves, he’s doing it with the man he loves, the man he just knows he is going to marry one day. It’s worth it. All of it, it’s worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, kudos and comments are much loved and appreciated! It's a weird and scary time right now, so I hope that this short and silly little oneshot helped, even just a little bit. At the very least, it made me laugh whilst I wrote it, and I hope it makes you laugh as well.


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